


Necessities of life

by captainhurricane



Series: peace for the dogs of war [2]
Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Canon Disabled Character, Food Issues, Gen, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-01-11
Packaged: 2018-03-07 03:29:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3159554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainhurricane/pseuds/captainhurricane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>dogs of war discuss some things. and eat. kaz is frustrated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Necessities of life

**Author's Note:**

> sunday-sadness and listening to too much bob dylan results in more gen-things accompanied with some super-subtle slash. this isn't as happy as the sleep-fic sorry about that. ps. and honestly, if i ever slip up and write kaz in an ableist way, do call me out.

It's not and it can't be all death and destruction when you're a soldier fighting against the biggest enemy of all. The Mother Base grows everyday and so does the number of their army, the waves sloshing against the base, the soldiers coming and going through the various decks. Building, laughing. Not merely there to destroy and to hunt.

At first, there is only a single kitchen and a mess hall, three soldiers (watched over by the ever more resentful Kazuhira Miller) assigned to the roles of cooks, having announced their willingness and ability for such. Three people turn out to be too little soon enough once their numbers grows as does a single kitchen. Kaz rips out a few of his hay-blonde hairs. (Ocelot, that fox with his snappy tongue and silver strands, just grins). 

"We're not that rich, boss," Kaz says. He had taken control of the mess hall willingly, having realized the great Big Boss is useless beside pots and pans and realizing that Ocelot is more at home with boiling pretty much everything and making about a dozen different soups with all the glee of a little boy. 

"We need to eat," Snake says back, solemn and calm for once, a full plate of food in front of him. The mess hall- the Western one, the Eastern one still in progress, you could hear the whirr of machinery and men shouting if you concentrated hard enough- is otherwise empty.

"And besides-" Snake continues, raising a hand currently holding a slightly bent fork to silence Kaz again. "You wanted to make the decisions concerning our supplies. Alligator should be back from her mission with Quiet today, as should be the payment for it. It should be enough to finish the Eastern hall." He eats, chewing with all the thoughtfulness of a man in no hurry to be anywhere. Snake's brown hair, now slightly streaked with grey, is messy. Kaz's fingers twitch, almost reaching out to correct them. 

"Mm," Kaz says instead. He isn't wearing his beret today or the green jacket he is so fond of. Snake swallows, takes another bite of his steak. The clatter of pans can be heard from the kitchen, Sparrow whistling Bob Dylan's Mr Tambourine Man along with the radio. The windows are open, letting in the sea breeze and the setting sun. Kaz's stomach growls. 

"I'll go check in their progress, Kaz," Snake says and straightens, swallowing a big bite and taking a good, long sip of his drink. It's just water, alcohol rarely finding its way to their illustrious leader's stomach these days. Kaz sighs, nods. 

"In the meanwhile, you're going to eat. I need you at your sharpest always," Snake continues. No need for a stern tone, only for the heavy pressure of his words and a gaze lingering on Kaz a moment too long. The corner of Kaz's mouth twitches. Of course he'll eat. Of course he'll do as said. His stomach growls again, like to prove a point. He stands up and doesn't wait for Snake to do the same; sees the raised eyebrow and huffs. 

"You finish your meal in peace, boss. I don't need you to tell me what to do," Kaz murmurs and takes his cane. His stomach growls again but Kaz only feels nausea with every clang his cane makes on the floor. Snake's eye is fixed on his back, he knows it, could recognize that prickling at the back of his neck anywhere but he doesn't turn to look.

*

Snake has left by the time Kaz turns around with his plate filled with a tiny piece of a steak, some mashed potatoes and salad. 

"Are you sure you don't want more, Commander Miller? There's so much left," Sparrow asks from the kitchen. He's a short man, his English heavily accented and Kaz knows he's a beast on the battlefield but now he looks almost homely in his apron and hair slicked back from his face. 

"I'm good," Kaz murmurs and doesn't look at his plate. "Ocelot has yet to eat and you know how he is." Kaz maneuvers himself and his plate to the nearest table with little difficulty, having broken enough plates and other things trying to find his balance again after getting his leg-prosthetic. He stabs the piece of meat with his fork and shoves it into his mouth, only then remembering to take something to drink. He flinches, turns only to find Sparrow coming to him with a glass of water in his hand. 

"I- I noticed you. Forgot," Sparrow murmurs and gives him the glass, leaves before Kaz can protest. He doesn't need help. Not now, not ever. ( _"What took you so long?"_ he had needed help then but that had been different, long weeks of torture and darkness and then Snake, always Snake standing against the times like an immovable mountain) Ever since his return from Afganistan he had had trouble with eating. He chews on the meat and while it's delicious, it's a bit like chewing a piece of cardboard in his mouth. Perhaps torture broke his taste buds as well. He sneers at his plate and resumes eating, only to be interrupted by the cling of spurrs and footsteps. 

Ocelot marches to the mess hall like he owned it, steps light and quick. His cheeks are flushed from standing in the cold sea breeze most of the day and his silvery hair is tied in a frankly quite ridiculous ponytail. 

"Miller," Ocelot says, something incredibly infuriating in the way his cold pale eyes gleam. 

"You," Kaz says, courteous as ever. He tries to ignore the way his shoulders do relax at the sight of the other man, having barely noticed how stiff and odd the empty mess hall had made him. Ocelot notices, stretches his arms. 

"Snake told me to tell you that the Eastern hall is progressing ahead on schedule. The boys have certainly put on their best effort," Ocelot says and greets Sparrow with a half-hearted wave before taking two plates himself and stuffing both of them full, ("You made okroshka? I'm flattered") and doing a hasty job in getting both of them and his glasses to the spot opposite to Kaz. Kaz swallows hard.

"There are twenty empty tables here, you idiot," Kaz scoffs. Perhaps he is a little touched. No need to tell this man the truth though, Kaz had never quite learned to trust Ocelot fully. 

"You like my company, Miller. So I thought I'd wipe that grumpy expression from your face," Ocelot says, unnaturally cheerful for someone who had gotten up at five am to watch the sunrise and go for a jog around the Mother Base. Kaz takes a sip of his ice-cold water and reminds himself to thank Sparrow later. Sparrow isn't to blame for Kaz's moods, after all. 

"I don't," Kaz says, but it's a weak argument. He pushes his half-eaten plate away from himself and sees Ocelot raise an eyebrow. 

"Yet you're not leaving," Ocelot says and takes his first spoonful of his favourite soup. "You really should taste this, Sparrow and his comrades certainly have outdone themselves."

Kaz rubs his nose, takes off his sunglasses for a second to rub between his eyes as well. "Not hungry, Ocelot," he says. Ocelot clicks his tongue and says nothing for a moment, only watches the way Kaz's eyebrows bundle up together, the lines of stress and worry and endless bitterness etching themselves deeper into a face that shouldn't look that old. 

"Next time then," Ocelot murmurs, finding it easier to be gentler when Kaz isn't looking at him. 

"This place is too quiet," Kaz says, empties his glass and wishes it was vodka or anything else from the Mother Base's supposedly secret alcohol cabinet. Ocelot makes a lot of noise when he eats and Kaz's face scrunches up in disgust as this slender whisp of a man devours two places much like someone who hasn't seen food in days. 

"It is," Ocelot agrees once he's emptied his mouth, sighing as he takes a good long sip of his drink that seems to contain something else than water. Like on cue, Sparrow serenades to Whitney Houston in the kitchen, almost drowning the sound of the dishwasher under his belting. Ocelot snorts. Even Kaz's mouth twitches. He's not that humourless, it's just that there is heaviness on his shoulders and he isn't good at dealing with it. Hasn't probably been ever but at least it was easier before Snake manipulated him into joining this doomed expedition. 

"Why don't you eat with the others then?" Asks Ocelot, leans back and finds a casual tone like they were speaking about the weather. (Which has, by the way, started to be quite atrocious. No sunny, clear days for the dogs of war it seems as the rain starts to pitter-patter against the window so suddenly that all three men in the mess hall flinch). Kaz swallows, rubs his throat. He feels naked without all of his regalia on him, wonders why he even left his scarf or his hat behind. His hair has started to go thinner and he hates it. 

"I can't," Kaz murmurs, puts on his glasses once more and thus the image of Ocelot in front of him become murkier, darker but seemingly clearer. No compassion is found in his now-and-then comrade's eyes but Ocelot isn't a creature of compassion anyway so Kaz thinks little of it. What he thinks more of, however, is the pity. Kaz gets up, wavers a bit as he always does when his legs don't quite work with him. 

"Don't," Kaz hisses, finds the anger to be a comfort. Ocelot blinks, innocently. Pfft, like he had known innocence ever since he learned what a crapsack-world they lived in. 

"Don't what, Miller?" Always with the Miller. Never, if ever Kaz. Never Commander. Just Miller, often spoken softly like Ocelot was speaking to a dear lover instead of someone who isn't quite an enemy. 

"Fuck your pity," Kaz says and leaves Ocelot to take care of his plate and his glass, his haphazardly thrown utensils. Ocelot hums. Sparrow sings louder in the kitchen, the nickname ever funnier but Ocelot doesn't laugh and watches Kaz leave. 

* 

* 

Nobody says anything as the clank of Kaz's cane interrupts a loud lunch in the newly opened Eastern mess hall. The four soldiers currently in the kitchen all greet him with a nod and a wave, Kaz nods sternly and bites the inside of his cheek as he takes a bowl of okroshka to the side table where Ocelot sits with his elbows on the table, deep in discussion with few of their Russian-born soldiers. Some soup has splashed on Kaz's fingers but he ignores it, instead frowns at Ocelot. 

"Commander," the soldiers murmur, hastily giving two of their leaders space. Ocelot's eyes gleam. Infuriating. 

"Miller," he greets. Kaz calls him an idiot but knows it comes out as sounding affectionate. Ocelot's foot pushes against his under the table and Kaz nearly chokes on his soup. 

"Where's-" 

"Snake's on one of his missions, remember?" 

"Oh," Kaz is wearing his beret today and doesn't remove it, not even when sitting down and starting to eat. He makes no remark of how Ocelot just knew what he was going to ask. Ocelot is watching him, having finished his own meal long time ago. 

"Don't worry. He took DD with him. Like peas in a pod, those two. And in fact, I should be heading for the radio room since he should be calling soon, he did ask if you would be the codec-contact this time-"

"Of course I would-" 

"Of course you would," Ocelot concludes and this time he smiles. The soldiers next to them go, finding the space between them and their commanders growing larger. 

"You're not trustworthy," Kaz says and knows he's being foolish. It was him, after all, who rolled out of his own bed first to see how Ocelot looks alone in it, face smushed against a pillow and looking like he desperately needs a good night's sleep and a shave. 

"Trusthworthy enough for your bed. Trustworthy enough to lead our Big Boss out of trouble that dog is probably leading him into," Ocelot says, quieter but no less chipper. Kaz bites his tongue, the soup very much forgotten. 

"Shut up," he says and continues eating, once again with a frown. Ocelot laughs. 


End file.
